


No Longer 10,000 Words

by emwebb17



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Destiel - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, M/M, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 17:08:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1395865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emwebb17/pseuds/emwebb17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In honor of getting 1000 followers on my Tumblr, I asked my followers to submit prompts that I would have to fill in exactly 1000 words.  I wrote the first ten submitted: 8 are Cockles, 2 are Destiel, and the ratings range from General Audiences to Explicit.  Each chapter is labeled with the pairing and the rating.</p><p>The scenarios exist in Canon Verse and AUs and range from director!Misha to crocheting!Cas to JIBCons past and future to role playing to S9-10 wishful (though bitter) thinking.</p><p>Also, AO3 apparently counts words differently than Microsoft Word (I’m guessing the hyphens play a role) so the word counts are all thrown off and I’m quite displeased.</p><p>EDIT: Removed RPF.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Destiel - G

Castiel’s brow creased as Dean glared at him and stomped out of the room.

“Cas,” Sam said, rubbing an eye with a hand.  “He’s mad because you don’t stay in the bunker.”

“I have work to do.  The angels—“

“Yeah, I know.  But when you don’t have a lead, he wants you here.”

“Doing what?  You go off on hunts, which I’ve been informed I’m on suspension from joining you because of accidentally starting a cult in my name in Kentucky.”

“It was kind of a big deal, Cas.  They kept showing up at the crime scenes and messing up the case.”

“It was certainly no worse than the time I  **was**  God.  There are still factions of those followers out there.”

“I’m sure.  But look, buddy, Dean gets worried when you aren’t here.  You know he’d sooner eat broccoli than admit it, but he misses you.  Give the guy a break, okay?”

“So what should I do when you and Dean are gone?  I’ve read everything in here.”

Sam shrugged.  “Learn how to cook—no, actually, let’s not have a repeat of that.  Um.  Write poetry.  You like poetry, right?  Or…learn to crochet.  I don’t know.  Just find something that will keep you occupied here so I don’t have to put up with any more Dean’s bitch fits.”

Castiel was not overly pleased with this new directive, but the next time Dean and Sam left to go on a hunt, he promised them he would stay in the bunker and find something productive to do.  Of his two options of poetry and crochet—he determined writing poetry was much different from reading it and that he would much rather crochet than attempt to write one more rhyming stanza.  He knew didactically what crocheting was, but he would need instruction and materials, which would require him leaving the bunker.  If he was quick about it, Dean would never know.  After a quick Internet search (Sam had taught him how to use it a few months back) he located a yarn store that offered classes in crochet, hopped in his hoopty, and made his way downtown.

The yarn store was aptly and pleasingly named Yarn Store.  A bell jangled as he opened the door and two young girls looked up from where they stood behind a counter.  One was tall with dyed dark red hair and blue eyes.  The other was a shorter blonde with suspicious green eyes behind her glasses.

“Can we help you?” the blonde asked.

“Yeah, are you lost?” the tall one added.

“This is the yarn store, correct?”

The two girls glanced at each other.

“Yes,” they replied.

“And you can teach an—individual how to crochet.”

They glanced at each other again.  “Yes.”

Cas smiled.  “Excellent.  I would like to learn how to crochet.”

After a few more minutes of awkward conversation as the shopkeepers tried to suss out what Castiel wanted, they were all seated in a circle and working on projects.  The blonde, Yasako, had been the one to teach him a few basic stitches while the redhead, Akuko, kept asking why this “Dean person” got to dictate what Castiel was and was not allowed to do.

Once Castiel had learned the basic stitches, it was easy to repeat them and connect them in the patterns he saw in the instructional books.  The girls seemed surprised that he had picked up the skill so quickly as they kept insisting he must have done it before.

“I assure you, this is my first day crocheting, but I do enjoy the calming repetitive nature of the activity.”

“Mm-hmm,” Akuko said as she clumsily added another row to her—creation.

“What are you making?” Castiel asked.

“A cock cozy.”

“Akuko!” Yasako shouted, her face turning an interesting shade of red.

“I assume by the shape that you mean a penis and not a rooster.”

“You would be correct, sir.”

“What does one do with a cock cozy?”

“Nothing!” Yasako interrupted and glared at her friend.

Since it was getting late, Castiel wanted to return to the bunker in case Dean called to check on him.  He didn’t want to lie regarding his whereabouts.  The girls were kind enough to let him keep the scarf he had inadvertently made while chatting, and he guiltily used a fake credit card to buy two hundred dollars worth of yarn, supplies, and How-To books.

Back at the bunker, Cas poured over the books before finally selecting a project he wanted to attempt.  He worked on it nonstop for the week the boys were gone, and when they returned Cas was quite pleased with the result when he presented it to Dean.

“What the hell is this?” Dean asked as he held the stuffed, crochet frog in his hands.

“It’s a Pacman frog.  It’s not actually that size.  Real Pacman frogs are much smaller.”

“Allow me to rephrase that.   **Why**  am I holding it?”

“I made it.  For you.  Sam said you don’t like when I’m not here.”  Dean’s eyes darted over to Sam and his cheeks turned pink.  “I thought if you had this with you, you wouldn’t miss me when we’re apart.”

Dean stared at him for a moment, and then pointed at Sam with the frog.  “This is your fault.”

Sam put his hands in the air and shrugged.

Castiel’s brow creased as he felt rejection.  “You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say—“  Dean wiped a hand over his face.  “Look, we got work to do, alright?  So, let’s do it.”

The next time they were on a case, packing their bags after a successful ghost hunt, Sam thought he saw something poking out of Dean’s bag.

“We’re leaving in five,” Dean informed him brusquely as he stepped into the bathroom and shut the door.  Sam watched the bathroom door and quickly crossed the room.  He pulled back the side of Dean’s duffle, and grinned when he saw the green crocheted Pacman frog tucked into the corner.


	2. Destiel - Teen (for violence)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This contains a "character death."

Rage and desperation filled Dean’s veins.  Abaddon’s words rang in his ears.

_"You can’t kill me.  Even with the Mark.  Even with the Blade.  You have to be a Knight of Hell to kill a Knight of Hell.  You’ll never be strong enough otherwise."_

Sam shouted Dean’s name again and dodged away from another slash of the First Blade.  He wasn’t fast enough this time and the blade caught his arm, tearing a large gash from shoulder to elbow.

"Dean!  What are you doing?!"

"I have to be him," Dean said, eyes dark, lost.  "She has to die.  I have to make it right."

Dean attacked again and Sam tucked and rolled.  He fell against Cas’ prone body.  The angel was still unconscious from his battle with Metatron.  The battle he had barely survived though Sam was certain he had seen Cas’ grace return to him—his own grace.  He didn’t have time to worry about him though because his brother attacked again.

Sam stood up, holding the demon blade.  Dean’s entire right arm was glowing and his eyes—his black eyes—were sparking with the reddish-orange light of demonic death.

"It has to be done, Sam," Dean said, his voice sounding much too calm.  "Cain slew Abel.  That’s just how it is.  It’s the same now.  We both want the same woman— it’s just that we both want her dead.  And that can only happen when I’m as ruined as she."

"Dean, you have the Blade and the Mark.  You can kill her already!  Why are you fighting me?  Dean, listen to me!  It’s Sammy!  Don’t!  Dean!"

Sam flinched back and closed his eyes, waiting for the blow.  Or maybe he wouldn’t feel it.  Maybe a beheading would be instantaneous and he was already gone and—where would he go?  Heaven, hell, purgatory?  His soul was questionable at this point in the game.  He heard a strangled cry of grief.

Sam opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was Dean’s eyes—green and clear again.  For a moment he thought he’d reached his brother and saved him.  And then he saw the reason the blade wasn’t sunk deep into his chest.  It was in Cas’ back.  Cas had awoken and jumped between them, sacrificing himself to save Sam’s life.  Cas knew.  He knew Dean would be lost if he killed his own brother.  His soul forever shattered and impossible to recover.  Cas would rather be dead than see Dean’s very existence erased.

Dean pulled the blade out of Cas’ back and stumbled to the floor under the weight of his friend’s body.  There was no time for words.  No time for goodbyes.  Pure white light poured out of Cas’ eyes and mouth.  Dean screamed as the light burned brighter and then flashed in a small explosion.  The acrid scent of charred flesh filled Sam’s nose and he put a hand to his mouth and stared in horror at his brother and his dead angel.

Dean was sitting with his back against a stark white wall, Cas’ lifeless vessel in his arms.  Large black shadows of Cas’ wings stained the white drywall.  Dean’s skin smoldered where the wings had disintegrated against his chest.  Dean had his arms wrapped around Cas’ body.  He rocked back and forth, his keening so heartrending it shredded Sam’s soul.

Sam knelt to the floor and looked away, but didn’t shut his eyes.  He was certain he would never be able to close his eyes again without seeing this tableau of death and love.

**Two Years Later**

Dean stood in the motel bathroom, staring at the angry red scars on his chest and shoulders like he did every damn day of his life.  Why he was still living was beyond him.  Why he hadn’t just killed himself or let some monster take him were very good questions.  But for now, he had a job to do.  His little brother’s network of Men and Women of Letters had sent him a message letting him know of a possible ghoul case two towns away from his current location.  It was good that Sam had filled the bunker with a real team of researchers again.  Hunters like himself needed to stay on the road where they belonged.

"You know we’ve got a couple of hours worth of driving to do," the voice said.  "We should really get going."

Dean gritted his teeth.  He hated the voice.  He pulled his T-shirt on and grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste from the shelf.  Back in the room he stuffed them into his duffle and ignored the person lying on his bed, wearing his clothes, speaking his thoughts—but looking and sounding exactly like  _him_.

"You know Sam’s birthday is coming up.  You should give him a call."

"Thank you, Jiminy," Dean mumbled and zipped the bag closed.

"Would that help?  If I looked like a cricket?"

Dean raised his head and those blue eyes and pink lips smirked at him.  Cas got off the bed and stalked toward him.  Dean backed up until he bumped into a chair and fell into it.  Cas kept advancing.  He slid onto Dean’s lap and smiled cruelly down at him.

"That’s not how the conscience works, Dean.  You see, I’m right here," Cas said as he twirled a finger in the hair on the crown of his head.  "I’m born of fear and guilt and regret.  So, of course, I look like him."

Dean clenched his jaw and the voice laughed at him again.

"But it’s not so bad on the nights when we’re alone is it?  Hearing my voice in your ear while you—"

Dean stood up and the apparition was on the other side of the room.

"We’re wasting daylight," Dean growled.

"That we are."

Dean picked up his duffle and walked over to the door.  He pulled it open but paused before walking through.

"Are you coming?"

Cas smiled at him, but not with the usual contempt.  “Don’t I always?”


End file.
